Even Angels Have to Cry
by RonWeasleysGirl
Summary: A saturday night in Gryffindor Common Room, told from Harry's POV/mild H/R pre-slash


Title: Even angels have to cry  
  
Author: RonWeasleysGirl  
  
Rating: PG for very, very mild pre-slash  
  
Disclaimer: JKR is the lucky one who owns them. I just borrow them to make them happy.  
  
Warnings: THIS IS PRE-SLASH!!!!!!!! THAT MEANS CHEMISTRY BETWEEN MALE CHARACTERS FROM THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Feedback: yes, please, please, please. But no flames, okay?  
  
Archives: the usual folks don't have to; others ask before, please.  
  
  
  
  
  
One of our oh so peaceful moments.  
  
Ron smiling to himself, content with the world and maybe a little tiddly from the bottle of Lambrusco we hide underneath my bed.  
  
Everyone gone to bed and we the last of the Mohicans who still hold out.  
  
It's alway so peaceful sitting there in the Common Room with him, talking softly about everything which makes our eyes glow.  
  
Oh; i'm so very fond of him.  
  
But today I feel different; peaceful, yes, but this harmony inside of me mingles with something else which makes me feel all weepy and silly, like a little child.  
  
I pitied myself the whole evening, watching Hermione snuggle closer into Seamus' arms while George was teasing Lavender and vice versa, in this typical, unmistakable way which left no room for misinterpretation, leaving the two of them all giggly and blushing.  
  
I noticed how Percy's hands twitched nervously round the covers of his book as Oliver entered the room and although his eyes remained firmly on the page I saw them grow glassy and so very un-Percy-ish.  
  
I saw Ginny hug her brother, before she went to bed, and even the twins couldn't hide their brotherly fondness, even if they only showed it by pinching his cheek and calling him „Ronniekins".  
  
It left him grumbling, but I would give the world to have some brothers to tease me.  
  
This tender atmosphere made me feel so...so alone.  
  
I was embarassed, and I still am when I feel the lump in my throat, which weighs my voice.  
  
Now I had better be quiet so Ron does not notice how silly I am.  
  
Studying my feet, I keep on drowning in my self-pity, sniffing occasionally and trying to hold back the tears.  
  
Ron says something and chuckles, but I miss his comment.  
  
He's beautiful as usual, as he sits there.  
  
I've never been a spiritualist, but I become one, now, because sorting Ron into his element is ever so easy, when you watch him in the light of the fireplace, the shimmer of the flames giving his hair all shades of red, from copper to bronze to gold and back again.  
  
He looks like he's born from fire, shaped out of fire, his eyes gleaming ardour and a shower of sparks all over his skin.  
  
Yes, he's so very fire.  
  
I smile, as I think, how true that is, because his blood must be lava, considering the way he alway acts on his emotions, so very undisguised.  
  
He smiles at me, and I grow all soft again.  
  
„What's it like to be loved?", I ask him all of a sudden, without proper context.  
  
But I want to know.  
  
He returns my gaze, a little non-plussed at first, before a wave of pity washes over his face.  
  
"Aw, Har' ", he says and his eyes are full of sadness and sympathy.  
  
He stands up and sits down next to me on the sofa.  
  
He shakes his head and opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again.  
  
I feel miserable and small, very, very small and stupid.  
  
"Come here.", he sighs and pulls me into an embrace.  
  
I close my eyes and lean into it.  
  
It is the most wonderful feeling and I make a strange, whimpering sound as his arms encircle me gently and of course, I start to cry a little.  
  
"Shhh.", he whispers and I relish the tenderness which I hadn't expected from Ron, clumsy Ron who always is so uncomfortable about himself, his height, his everything.  
  
But now he seems to be perfectly comfortable and I realise it is the first embrace I ever feel myself enfolded in.  
  
Of course, I don't count the bruising hugs I received from Oliver Wood after I had caught the Snitch for his team, those hugs which left me all squirmy and giggly as Oliver is beautiful, but never could be compared to this gentle caress.  
  
Yes, I cry a little and feel so very comfortable myself and even enjoy the tears as they loosen the tension in my chest.  
  
"Ssh, Harry."  
  
Ron strokes my back and even kisses my hair before his hands shift to carefully hold my tear-stained face and make me look at him.  
  
His eyes are laden with emotion as he speaks and his voice full of sincerity.  
  
"You –are- loved, Harry."  
  
He smiles fondly and I cry a little more because I'm so moved.  
  
"How can we not love you? You're an angel."  
  
He caresses my cheek and I sniff and trumpet into my hankey very unangelically.  
  
„Aw, Harry.", he says once more and pulls me close again. „Little angel."  
  
Yeah, and then I fall asleep.  
  
And I guess...yeah, I guess not really only asleep.  
  
THE END 


End file.
